


As reckless a courage

by RuleBritannia



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: First Time, Identity Issues, M/M, Sexuality, Smut, bottom!Douglas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuleBritannia/pseuds/RuleBritannia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this prompt: cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/4885.html?thread=7677973#cmt7677973</p>
            </blockquote>





	As reckless a courage

**Author's Note:**

> Why should we honour those that die upon the field of battle? A man may show as reckless a courage in entering into the abyss of himself. 
> 
> William Butler Yeats

Granted, it was midnight, but Douglas felt tired as if he hadn’t slept for days. He hadn’t walked particularly long, or exceedingly fast, still he felt like he’d run a mile. He hadn’t made it past a meagre sip of cheap whisky before slamming the glass against the table and shredding his hand something awful, yet he felt plus ten years of abstinence and resolve crumble further with each passing second. 

He must have looked a fright. His hair was mused, his clothes wrinkled and smelling of alcohol where it had spilt, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion and unshed tears. He’d bandaged his hand hastily, and quite a bit of blood had seeped through it. He was cold, and sweating, and getting colder every second he stood outside the student house, gathering his courage. 

Douglas rang the bell with his good hand, that was shaking like a leaf.

He would have liked to have said he didn’t care about the apprehensive look the scrawny, sleepy looking kid that opened the door gave him, but he wouldn’t have been standing there, looking like he did, if that had been remotely true, ironically enough. After a short exchange where he had to convince the kid that, yes, he was Martin’s friend and not some psycho, he was left outside to wait for the other pilot.

Not five minutes later, Martin appeared at the door wearing a frown, his pyjamas and pillow marks on his face. It did nothing to help his current dilemma; in fact, it made it worse.

“Douglas? What… Oh, god, were you mugged?!”

He could have changed, combed his hair; he could have composed himself a bit before coming. Seeing the worry in Martin’s gaze as he took him in, he knew he had made the right choice. Just because he looked exactly as he felt, didn’t mean he couldn’t use it to his advantage.

“No, listen…” He could see a few of the students poking their heads from various doors, studying them both. “Can we talk upstairs?”

“Right, yes,” He moved aside to let him in with that nervous energy that was so very _Martin_. “Your hand; you’re bleeding, do you need…?”

Douglas raised his hands to stop him.

“Martin, please,” He didn’t like how broken he sounded, even if it was convenient. “Just… It’s fine, I’m fine. Can we …?” He gestured towards the stairs. 

Martin bit his lip and nodded. He led the way, rushing up, with Douglas following with the slow, heavy steps of a man facing the gallows. Once they’d reached Martin’s nutshell of a flat, the young man closed the door behind them and gave him a stern, almost paternal look.

“Now, Douglas, will you tell me what’s going on?” 

There was so much frantic concern in his tone, and underlying affection that Douglas couldn’t deal with at the moment. Oh, he knew it was there, it was even part of the problem, but not something he could acknowledge just yet. Now he had to deal with something else. 

_This is it, Douglas. All or nothing._

He stepped closer to the younger man, intent clear but not overbearing, lest he ran off like a scared rabbit. Martin tensed, but his concern must have outdone his instincts to flee. His good hand found its way to Martin’s shoulder. It was still shaking. 

“Martin,” he said in a low tone, intent on being seductive and coming out broken instead. “I will ask you something, and I just want a yes or no answer. Can you do that?”

“What… Douglas… You’re starting to scare me…”

He was so close, Douglas could feel it all, the speeding of his heartbeat, and breaths; he could see his pupils dilating. He had known it was reciprocated, that whatever _this_ was, but it was nice to see the evidence up close. 

“Yes or no, Martin,” he whispered, just a breath away, eyes fixed upon his prey. He knew how to do this, even if he was a wreck of nerves inside, even if it showed around the edges that he was more frightened than he remembered ever being before. “And if the answer’s no, I won’t be upset, or angry. But please, _please_ … If it’s yes, just… Will you fuck me?” 

There was a sharp intake of breath. Every muscle on Martin tensed beyond strain. His eyes were searching Douglas’ franticly. Douglas was sure he would spout a string of questions, of reproaches and admonishments, and he was ready to counter each one, but the silence stretched painfully. He could almost hear the cogs in his captain’s head turning as he evaluated the situation.

Martin’s eyes softened then, understanding clear in them, though Douglas doubted he had a real clue of what was going on. Douglas held his breath, expectant. He wasn’t about to correct him in his deductions so far it went along with what he needed.

“Yes,” Martin let out in a soft, calm voice that surprised him, and had his knees weaken dangerously. The younger man closed whatever hair-thin distance was between them and breathed into his ear. “Yes, Douglas.”

Douglas didn’t like surprises. Oh, he wasn’t against the concept, as such, and had no problem surprising others. But being surprised, to him, meant he had miscalculated, that he had missed something. Douglas Richardson didn’t misinterpret things, didn’t overlook things, he couldn’t afford to. But he hadn’t expected this calm acceptance, this gentleness with which Martin now led him towards his tiny bed. 

 

It was the last in a string of things that had him spiralling out of control, from stray thoughts during unguarded moments, teasing comments that were intended to mortify the young man, and ended up sounding like him testing the waters without realising, from dreams that had left him breathless, to this… this final moment of temporary madness. Because it had to be madness, one does not wake up one day after fifty or so years of undeterred heterosexuality, to find himself undone with desire for another man. Affection, even love, yes, but this… 

Still, he couldn’t ask why; he didn’t want to know. He should count himself lucky, really.

He tried to pull himself together. He took a sit at the edge of the bed- god he was shaking worse than before- and fished his pockets for the condoms and lube he’d bought earlier that day. He held them tight, as a life line, to remind himself that yes, maybe he was completely out of control here, but this was still his decision. He was here because he wanted to be here, if only to put an end to the ridiculousness of it all. 

“I… got this,” he offered them to Martin, who was now kneeling in front of him, unbuttoning Douglas’ shirt with a look of deep concentration on his face. “I don’t know if… if they’re ...”

Martin took the items and let out a tiny chuckle, that did let on he was also nervous. At least that was a relief, something familiar to cling to. 

“Good thinking,” he said in a small voice, still incredibly gentle, but a few keys lower than usual. “Mine have probably expired by now.”

Martin moved to kiss him, and Douglas didn’t have the foresight to stop him in time. His lips were lush and full, and so soft against his. How many times he’d stared at that mouth, thinking of what he’d like to do to it before he could stop himself. But it was too close, too intimate, too… heartfelt, and mixing with things that had no place here; not tonight. He pulled away at the first hint of tongue, shaking his head.

“No kissing,” He felt like the lowest kind of scum, and the flash of disappointment and hurt in Martin’s eyes did not help, but he just simply couldn’t deal with all of it at once. 

Luckily, the captain didn’t protest. 

“I understand,” he said after a long sigh, and moved to his neck instead. “Is this ok?” he asked, planting sloppy, wet kisses along his jaw line as he removed his own shirt. Douglas could only nod in reply. His hands were gripping the fabric of the comforter for dear life. “Tell me,” Martin said between kisses, going for his belt. “Tell me what you want.”

_I want you, god, I want you so much_

“On my hands and knees,” he said, sternly, almost harshly, because it wasn’t really what he wanted at all, but what he needed. It was the ultimate humiliation in his eyes, and he wondered if it was karma, revenge from the ghosts of stewardess past. It was also a way to avoid temptation, of not seeing whatever would be on Martin’s face, that he was neither willing, nor ready, to see.

“If you’re sure.”

Martin frowned and stood, Douglas with him, and they both removed the rest of their clothing in a slow sort of daze. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at the younger man up and down, in all his glorious beauty. An understated beauty, with his thin, but firm body, so real and so human, nothing like any dream he’d had. Martin was already hard, and Douglas found it a beautiful sight, if only because it was for him. He wanted to touch him, to lavish him with kisses all over. Instead, he just turned and assumed the position, resting on his forearms and knees, muscles spasming and jaw clenching, as if awaiting punishment, which in a way, he was.

There were a few moments, while Martin got everything ready, and it was all Douglas could do to stop himself from chickening out. Then he felt Martin’s hand on the small of his back, and he buried his face into the pillow.

“You need to relax,” Martin cooed, trailing slow, firm caresses across his hips with one hand, while the other began massaging his entrance with lubricated fingers. “It will hurt if you don’t.”

He knew it would hurt. He wanted, _needed_ it to hurt.

“Just do it,” he growled.

Instead, Martin laid his full weight on him, covering him with his body as much as it would, skinny as he was, pressing his erection against Douglas’ ass. He shut his eyes tight, trying to ignore how _not bad_ it felt there.

“I will **not** hurt you,” he said in the same voice he used when disagreeing about something on G-ERTI, but deeper, so rich, like a rumble that put his own voice to shame. He was torn between amusement and a shiver that coursed through him at the command. “We do this right, or not at all.”

He grunted, relaxing as much as he could. He could feel the heat on his face, mostly from embarrassment, at the position he was in, the position he’d put himself in, but also with the beginnings of arousal because, much as he hated to admit it, he could not remain immune to Martin’s touch. In contrast with his errant kisses and caresses, the hand working his entrance was firm and determined, prodding and massaging, but never quite entering, getting him used to feelings he wasn’t aware he was sensitive to.

The consideration on Martin’s part was appreciated, but counter-productive. Douglas pushed against the hand working him, impatient. The young man grunted in frustration. 

“I know what I’m doing, Douglas!” he hissed, and he could hear a slight desperation in his voice. 

Douglas turned to look at him. He was flushed, panting, and so hard it looked like it hurt. It was all Douglas could do not to whimper at the sight.

“Well, I… I’m not sure you do!” he snarled, rather pathetically, if he was honest. “I don’t have all night, you know? To stay like this with my ass up in the air and waiting for you to…”

And Martin promptly shut him up by shoving a finger up said ass. Not even the whole finger, barely up to the first knuckle, but to Douglas it felt… too much, too big, too something, definitively. He gasped, burying his face back into the pillow. There wasn’t any pain, at least so far, just an overwhelming pressure, coming from within him spreading through his gut. Martin pushed further in, slowly, stopping at times to let him adjust, hooking his finger, stretching him.

It was like nothing he’d ever felt already, but when the finger brushed his prostate, Douglas let out a strangled moan of pleasure, so lost in the sensations he failed to notice a second finger had joined in the attack until they were both buried deep within him. Without him even realising, he was rocking his hips to meet the intrusion. It was so good, _too_ good, but he was way past caring.

Too soon the fingers retreated, and Douglas had a moment of reprieve to gather his senses. He knew what came next. He took a deep breath and held it there. Surely he would finally get what he came for; soon it would all be over and he could go back to being himself. Martin leaned against him again, propped on one hand against the headboard, the other holding his cock against Douglas now tender hole. 

“Douglas,” the younger man breathed against his ear, full of need. “If… Tell me to stop if… it hurts, ok?”

He let out a noncommittal sound and nodded roughly.

Martin pushed the head in, before he pulled out, and in again, further in each time. And there was something akin to pain, a distant simile of pain, but it was delicious, mixing with the most intimate pleasure. He could hear Martin breathing hard, moaning in time with every thrust, until he was buried to the hilt. There he stayed, still and tense, and sneaked a hand around Douglas to stroke his cock slowly. Douglas tilted his head back, arched against Martin, groaning.

“Douglas, _god_ Douglas.” Martin kissed his jaw, his neck, and Douglas had to admire the young man’s restrain. His thrust were slow and aimed to drive him mad with pleasure with each one, but his kisses told of how desperate he was for more. 

Douglas turned his head, searching blindly for Martin’s mouth. He didn’t care anymore. He was lost in so many feelings he could not even begin to describe them, let alone repress them. He met him in a rough, needy kiss and rocked his hips to a more suitable rhythm, causing Martin to whimper. Then the captain lost all semblance of control, pumping his cock in time with his erratic thrusts, and Douglas felt tiny orgasms coursing through him as the big one built up from deep within him. He came in a mess of moans and white around the edges of his vision, with Martin’s name on his lips. 

He collapsed in an exhausted heap, heart beating madly enough he feared bursting a coronary, wrapped in post-coital bliss that kept at bay the dark shadows that had been following him for months now. He could feel them creeping back in, and did nothing to stop Martin from gathering him into his arms, as if he could stop them. He couldn’t. the bliss wore out, in spite of the soft kisses to his hair. He cried like men cry when they’re not used to it, with dry heaves and a rictus of pain, but no tears, while Martin rubbed his back soothingly, whispering soft words of comfort. 

“I’m not gay,” he let out brokenly between sobs, and it sounded like such a weak protest, such a poor expression of his confusion. Martin held him tighter.

“For the record,” he uttered gently, “I don’t think you are. Would it be so terrible, though?” and there was a hint of fear, of self-deprecation. Douglas shook his head desperately. That he, of all people, couldn’t find the words…

“That’s not it, Martin, god, that’s not it at all.”

The captain lifted Douglas’ face to meet his eyes, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

“Then, what is it? What’s wrong?”

He took a shuddery breath.

“ _Me_ , Martin. Who am I?! I… I don’t know who I am anymore.” 

“Oh, Douglas,” Martin kissed his lips chastely, “You’re Douglas Richardson,” his forehead, “The same Douglas you were yesterday," his eyelids, “The same smug bastard that gave me hell from day one,” He chuckled a bit, and buried his face in the junction of Douglas’ neck. “You’re still the same man, Douglas. You just know yourself a bit better, is all.”

Douglas grunted, not ready to agree, but feeling a weight lift of his shoulders at Martin’s words. He had no idea where to go from where he was, but at least… he didn’t know at least what, it was just there, at the end of the sentence. That had to mean something.

“Thank you, though,” Martin continued. “I’m honoured you’d trust me with this, instead of going to a stranger.”

That caught his attention. Douglas lifted his head, frowning.

“Martin, why would I go to a stranger?” Seeing the confusion in the young man’s eyes, he lifted himself up a bit, his natural height difference causing him to tower over Martin slightly. “What do you think just happened?”

Martin gaped like a fish, blinking rapidly, confidence and calm flying out the window in a flash.

“I… I… What do you mean, what just happened?”

“Humour me.”

“You… uhm… you were, confused is a strong word…. Curious? About men and… And… you …wanted…” Clearly Douglas’ expression must have tipped him off on just how off the mark he was, so he snapped his mouth shut.

“Martin, you clot,” he said, a wave of tenderness tinting his words. “I wasn’t confused about **men**... not really. I was confused about **you**.” Hearing himself use the past tense was like lifting a shroud from his eyes. He smiled, and leaned to give Martin a soft kiss on the lips. “I wanted… I don’t know how I thought sex with you would make me get over you, but I did. It didn’t. I’m in love with you.”

Martin’s eyes widened, and his face got so red it was unnatural. Douglas wouldn’t deny that part of him feared rejection, even after all the evidence in his favour. He knew those fears were unfounded.

“I… What? You… love me? Really?”

“Really.” He lay on his back, pulling Martin with him. “Your bed is incredibly uncomfortable,” he mumbled, stroking the shocked man’s hair and closing his eyes, hoping he would finally get some undisturbed sleep.

“I’m… sorry?” Then Martin sighed, relaxing again, and timidly snuggled closer. “We’ll… we’ll have to do it in yours… next time.”

“That sounds like a plan.”


End file.
